


Who You Really Are

by Scarlettsfic



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: All of it is just really angsty i’m sorry, Angst, Brief Sheriarty, Dark Sherlock, Drug Addiction, Graphic Description, Hurt/Comfort, I had to i’m sorry, I swear, It’ll get happier, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mind Palace, Needles, Oops, Overdosing, Recreational Drug Use, Sherlock is basically just a junkie, Suicidal Thoughts, angsty, i'll add more tags as i go along, obviously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-26 14:10:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17747339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarlettsfic/pseuds/Scarlettsfic
Summary: Simply put, Sherlock Holmes is a drug addict. A drug addict with a major crush on John Watson.Following the death of Mary Morstan, Sherlock and John seem to be getting back to their normal lives solving crime. That is, when Sherlock isn’t fighting the war inside his head.





	Who You Really Are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s not the fall that kills you. It’s the landing.”

Sherlock held a vice-like grip on his bathroom sink, his knuckles turning white as he presses the needle into his arm. His eyes fluttered shut involuntarily, feeling the sharp pain that he was all too used to.

The detective had tried his best not to give in, he really had. If not for himself, for John. Even just thinking about him, how he would react if he saw this, consumed him with immense guilt that threatened to tear him apart at any given moment.

It had been several months since the incident at Sherrinford, yet he still returned to that momentous day whenever he closed his eyes. His sister, Moriarty, his willingness to take his own life, genuinely fearing his best friend would die. It all came back. He had tried, tried _so hard_ to go back to normal. Back to solving cases with John, to the life they knew before he had faked his own death.

But the thoughts that crept in every night as he lay awake became far too much to bear, and the guilt that weighed down on him only ever increased. The drugs, they were the only way to quieten his mind, to offer some sort of relief. He knew just about everyone in his life would disapprove, but he had become somewhat of a master at disguising the fact that he’s high most of the time. It gnawed away inside of him, having never felt guilt this strong before. Thankfully, those thoughts were quickly forgotten. With a little help, that is.

Sherlock was determined not to get caught this time, determined to keep up the facade he had created. As far as John knew, life really had gone back to normal. Apart from the fact he had a baby now, of course. He finally seemed happy again, and the detective was going to keep it that way.

He injected the solution of cocaine, upping his usual seven percent dose by an extra three percent, into his bloodstream. A brief smile crossed his face at the familiar, almost euphoric feeling. Relief washed over him as he leant himself against the wall for support, having been desperate for a fix.

He checked to make sure the strip of paper was still in his pocket, the one with his scrawled handwriting over the front, detailing what he had taken. Sure enough, it was still there. Mycroft would be so pleased. Slowly, he removed the empty syringe from his arm and slipped it into the pocket of his dressing gown, pulling his sleeve back down. He took a deep breath and he tilted his head back against the wall. It wouldn’t take long for them to take effect now.

“Sherlock? Sherlock, are you alright?” The voice startled him at first, before realising it was just John, standing outside the door. Concerned for him. He groaned and thread his fingers through his hair, tugging on it roughly as he squeezed his eyes shut.

 _God, that makes it so much worse._ He wasn’t entirely sure if he had spoken or was just thinking to himself. Off to a great start already.

“Sorry, what was that?” The sound of his friend’s voice echoed from behind the door again. So he had spoken aloud. “Nothing, it was nothing. I’ll be back out in a moment.” As soon as he heard the footsteps retreating, he made his way to his room without making a sound. He stashed the used syringe into his drawer beside his bed along with the many others.

Making his way back to the living room, he observed the army doctor waiting, and a small smile played on his lips. “No clients today?” Sherlock spoke as he walked in, surveying the room as a whole only to find they were the only ones there. He could’ve sworn they had a case today.

“Uh, we did. Earlier.” The man in front of him looked up, chuckling softly, “You solved it already, are you sure you’re alright?” He noticed that John was regarding him with suspicion, naturally. The detective immediately nodded quickly, walking over to the other side of the room. When had it become so hot in here? A light sheen of sweat gleamed across his skin, which he had only just noticed. He fumbled to open the window, attempting to ignore John’s concerned expression in the reflection. Sometimes he really hates the fact that his best friend is a doctor, it makes things a lot harder to hide. “One hundred percent. Just a little under the weather, that’s all. Happens to everybody.”

Sherlock sniffed and walked over to the kitchen, turning the kettle on. “Where are you going anyway?” He looked over at John and interrupted him before he could speak, “Your coat’s on the sofa, it was hanging up before. You checked your phone as I walked into the kitchen - waiting for a text, I presume? You’ve also just left Rosie with Mrs Hudson. So, where are you going? Just curious.” He usually spoke fast anyway, but there was something abnormal about the speed in which he was now.

John cleared his throat, looking up at him as he poured boiling water into the mug, “Well- I’ve got a date.”

That was enough to stop Sherlock in his tracks, who was just about to pull the tea bag from the mug. “Y-You’ve got a what?” His hands gripped the counter top, trying to disguise the fact that they were most definitely shaking. The thing was, it was obvious to just about everyone except John how he felt about him. He had been denying it for years, trying all methods to ignore what he felt whenever he looked at the other man. It hadn’t worked, clearly, though he really thought he’d gotten past it. Jealousy struck him anyway, the same feeling he felt at John’s wedding. Or whenever John was with another girl as a matter of fact.

He couldn’t help it, he had no right to feel angry, yet he did anyway. It aggravated him, the idea of his former flatmate just moving on like that, as if the past few months had never happened. It festered inside of him, spreading like a virus as his grip on the counter tightened, he couldn’t stop himself from blurting out, “So soon after Mary?” The detective knew that would get to him, yet he said it anyway. “Not that it’s any of my business, really, but it’s just a little quick don’t you think? You were married to the woman, for Christ’s sake. You can’t just try and forget about these things and distract yourself with certain people and things that bring you joy, it just doesn’t work.” At this point, he wasn’t sure if he was speaking to John or himself. Either way, he knew he was being cruel.

John looked stunned, and was clearly unsure of what to say. He was clenching his jaw. Angry. Good, that’s what he wanted. He wanted a reaction, something other than concern for him, it was a lot easier to deal with. Sherlock abandoned the cup of tea he was making and walked past him, interrupted by a forceful grip on his arm. If John lifted up his sleeve now, he’d know everything Sherlock has been hiding from him the past few months. Good thing he didn’t. Instead, he held his gaze with a burning hard stare, his eyes narrowed. He’d crossed a line, of course he knew that. Even so, he decided to press just a little harder, “What? Something I said?” The arrogance was evident in his voice and a slight smirk crossed his face.

The hit came sooner than expected, he’d noticed John’s fist clenching while he spoke, but even so the blunt force against his cheek managed to surprise him. It helped with the guilt, everything he felt, everything he was doing to himself, the pain from John’s punch eased it all. It was easier. Easier for the man he loved to hate him, he wouldn’t have to feel the same horrific guilt that way.

Silence fell upon the two. John’s glare bore into him as the other man took a seat, bringing his hand up to his face. “You.. You have no right to say that. You have absolutely fuck all to do with this!” His voice rose as he spoke, shattering the brief quiet that had cloaked the room. “God, why do I even waste my breath on you? _You don’t care._ ” The man had no idea how wrong he was there. “What is it you call yourself? Oh yes, ‘a high functioning sociopath’.” He let out a short laugh and continued speaking, “You know, I thought you might actually have become a better person. But no, you’re still the same emotionless prick who only cares about himself, not the people he hurts.” John stormed out, the door immediately slamming shut.

Sherlock slumped against the sofa, a sigh escaping his lips. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling completely devoid of hope. He had driven away the one person he loved and trusted most in this world. All of it, all of it was his fault, he’d done it to himself. The man held his head in his hands as he tried to just let the drugs carry him away, to let all thoughts of what just happened disappear.

“Jealousy. Nasty emotion.” A voice that wasn’t his own spoke, tutting softly. He opened his eyes, directing his gaze upwards only to find the one thing he had least wanted to see standing over him.

 

“Miss me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi okay so this is kind of my first fanfic i’m actually posting? It’s not that great but i’m enjoying writing it. Next chapter should be up soon! It just gets more angsty i’m so sorry. Next chapter will probably be hell. Sorry in advance.


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